


You Can Be Mean When You Look This Clean

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x7 - “Citizen Carl”, Canon-typical swearing, Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: “Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey sighed, dropping a hand to his hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t tell me this pussy outfit is turning you on.”“What if it is?” Ian smirked against Mickey’s throat and tucked his other hand into Mickey’s back pocket, drawing him in until they were pressed together from chest to thigh.“You got shit taste, that’s what,” Mickey breathed, and tipped his chin up, angling for a kiss.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	You Can Be Mean When You Look This Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I binge-watched Shameless this weekend (or like, 8.5 out of the 10 full seasons and all there is of 11 anyway) and I am OBSESSED.
> 
> This is one part me practicing character voices and one part me refusing to believe that there wouldn’t be some discussion of Mickey’s ridiculous work outfit in 10x7.
> 
> Not beta read but hopefully still fun! All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title from the fantastic “Classic Man” by Jidenna.

“So,” Ian said, long after the second EmergEvac truck had rolled off into the night and he and Mickey had finished chain-smoking their way through the afternoon's frustrations. He was leaning against one of the rear doors of the ambulance, open at his back, while Mickey sat on the bumper, lighting a fresh cigarette with the smoldering butt of his previous smoke.

He glanced up as Ian arched an eyebrow and waved a hand at the whole of Mickey’s person, asking pointedly, “When are we gonna talk about this ensemble of yours?”

Between Paula stealing Ian’s paycheck, swindling her way into position as Mickey’s parole officer, and orchestrating the whole debacle that had culminated in Mickey throwing a man out a third-story window, they hadn’t really had time to address the fact that Ian had rolled up to their lunch date at the mall food court to find Mickey looking like he was modeling for the centerfold spread of Yuppie Douchebags Monthly.

Mickey rolled his eyes and flipped Ian off. He flicked the spent cigarette into the street and sighed, “Fuck you, man,” voice low and thick with smoke. “It’s a fucking corporate-mandated uniform. You think I’d be wearing this shit if I had a choice in the matter?”

“I don’t know.” Ian reached out to pluck at the collar of Mickey’s shirt. “You’re kinda working it.”

Mickey scowled and slapped his hand away. He rolled his eyes again and heaved himself up off the bumper, smoothing a hand across his chest as he peered down the length of his body—a polo in a pastel shade somewhere between purple and pink with a shiny new nametag gleaming at the breast, crisp khaki shorts, and neat white crew socks pulled high over a pair of clean but well-loved black sneakers.

“I look like a fucking fag,” Mickey grumbled.

Ian grinned and meandered over to sling an arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “You _are_ a fucking fag,” he said, ducking in to press a kiss to Mickey’s cheek.

“Well, yeah,” Mickey agreed, shifting his weight into Ian’s hold and tilting his head to give Ian better access as he nosed up toward Mickey’s temple, “but that doesn’t mean I wanna fucking advertise it. Not with this bullshit choirboy getup, anyway.” He made a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when Ian sucked a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey sighed, dropping a hand to his hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t tell me this pussy outfit is turning you on.”

“What if it is?” Ian smirked against Mickey’s throat and tucked his other hand into Mickey’s back pocket, drawing him in until they were pressed together from chest to thigh.

“You got shit taste, that’s what,” Mickey breathed, and tipped his chin up, angling for a kiss.

Ian obliged him, licking his way past Mickey’s teeth and savoring the way Mickey shivered when Ian sucked on his tongue. He pulled back a few seconds later, just far enough to murmur, “Not my fault you look hot in pink,” into the warm air between them.

“Fuck you,” Mickey hissed, but he was smiling. He threw his half-smoked cigarette over his shoulder and fisted his hand in the front of Ian’s shirt, slipping the other off Ian’s hip in favor of hooking his fingers through Ian’s belt loop and yanking him forward. Mickey’s breath was hot against Ian’s mouth, eyebrows quirking high and playful as he leaned in and growled, “This is ‘sunny meadow lilac,’ bitch.”

Their mouths came together with a sweet, familiar ferocity. Mickey panted a little, hitching breath and dragged his teeth over Ian’s lower lip, walking him back until his shoulders hit the open door of the ambulance so hard it rattled when the hinges caught.

“Oh, right,” Ian gasped. “Of course. My mistake.” He dragged a trail of sloppy kisses across Mickey’s face—his cheek, his nose, his chin, the corner of his mouth—and slipped the arm he had around Mickey’s shoulders up until he could bury his fingers in Mickey’s hair. It was too short to get a good handful anywhere except right at the top, but he liked the way Mickey whined at the pressure of Ian’s touch against his scalp.

He cupped the back of Mickey’s head and locked his elbows to hold Mickey in tight against him, rolling his hips and sucking wet, desperate kisses wherever he could reach. Mickey was all too happy to put up with it for a few long, hazy minutes, until he rocked back into Ian’s hand where it was possessively kneading his ass and groaned, “Please tell me you got lube somewhere on this fucking truck.”

“Medical grade,” Ian confirmed with a smirk, loosening his hold just enough to lean back and get a good long look at Mickey’s glossy blue eyes, blown dark in the yellowed streetlight, and the hot pink flush glowing in his cheeks. His lips, perpetually chapped, were wet and swollen and Ian couldn’t resist dipping in for another kiss.

Mickey laughed into it, delighted and breathless, and shuffled until he was backed up against the bumper, dragging Ian with him by his belt. He swung one foot up onto the bumper and broke away to pant, “Better get up here and put it to good use plumbing my ass, then, Sparky.”

“Don’t even think about starting that shit with me, _Junior,”_ Ian warned, even as he got his hands around Mickey’s hips and gave him a pointed heft up into the box.

Mickey stepped up, graceless in his eagerness, and crouched down so he could tug Ian in by his shirtfront. His grin was wide and sharp, eyes bright as he promised in a low, teasing rasp, “You get on me in the next thirty seconds, Gallagher, and I’ll even keep the stupid fucking polo on, you’re so goddamn horny for it.”

Ian huffed a laugh, rolled his eyes, and followed Mickey up, swinging the doors shut behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
